


For the Ones Who Want to Get Away

by TrillianParadise



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Battery City, Better Living Industries, Corporate Nightmare, Dystopia, Multi, Science Fiction, The Desert, The Fabulous Killjoys (Danger Days) Are Not MCR, This Gets Trippy You Have Been Warned...., comic books, quarantine writing, radiation poisoning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23686780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrillianParadise/pseuds/TrillianParadise
Summary: To the citizens of Battery City, the Fabulous Killjoys are known only as comic book superheroes...and that's if they've heard of them at all."Approaching Battery City was like approaching the end of the world all over again. In order to reach it they had to pass through miles of suburban graveyards. It must have been spring (or the ghost of it at least) because there were a few twisted cherry blossom trees that grew between cracked slabs of sidewalk..."
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days), Motorbaby/Show Pony
Kudos: 8





	1. The Girl

When the girl was seven years old, she saw snow for the first time.

It drifted down in soft flakes like pieces of the woolly gray sky. It built up in drifts on sidewalks and the roofs of the neighborhood, bringing with it the soft quietness that the girl’s mother remembered from before the war. Her daughter ran out the front door in nothing warmer than her gray Better Living Ind. playsuit. Her giggles were bubbly with delight as she gazed around with wonder, feeling the snow under her boots and reaching out for the snow drifts to feel it between her fingers. White flakes of it were caught in her curly, brown hair. It clung to her boots and to her clothing, leaving behind white stains in a way that her mother found out of place in her memories.

She followed her daughter outside, and into the air that was cooled from the way the gray clouds blotted out the sun, but just as muggy and oppressive as always. The flakes still fell from the sky. She lifted her face upward, mimicking her daughter, to feel them on her cheeks. On an impulse, remembering something she’d done a long time ago when she was still young, she opened her mouth to catch one on her tongue. It melted into bitter, chalky powder, and she quickly lowered her chin and spat on the ground to get the taste out of her mouth. Suddenly anxious, she opened her mouth to call her daughter back to her side.

As if reading her apprehension and responding to the unformed questions in her mind, their street’s outdoor radio crackled awake. “Attention citizens of Battery City,” it said in it’s usual feminine voice, and she could hear the soft echoes of all the outdoor radios on all the streets of the city delivering the same words as well. “As you may have noticed, an irregular wind pattern has picked up clouds of ash from a burn zone in The Desert and carried them to our city. There is no radiation,” the voice assured them, “and there is no need to be alarmed. The clouds should dissappate overnight.” The girl had stopped her frollicking to listen to the announcement with a cocked head, and now had a frown on her face. She reluctantly obeyed when her mother gestured firmly for her to come inside, kicking up small clouds of ash with each footstep.

As they reached their door again, they heard the radio say in it’s warm voice “Better Living Industries wishes you a lovely day, Battery City.” She shut the door behind them, and watched the girl quietly collapse in a corner with a pout and turn her attention to her favorite comic books, soon forgetting all about the ash.

* * *

A dry wind blew hot, muggy air over the sagebrush hill, delivering streams of sand over the heads of vendors and shoppers in the outdoor market (the only place to buy things you can’t find easily in Battery City). She blinked up at the light streams of sand blown across the hazy sky, which was blue but seemed to have dirty cotton stretched over it. The sun shone determinedly through the haze, with it’s usual orange tint. It left neon blue stains on the backs of her eyelids when she shut them.

Wiping her damp forehead with the khaki sleeve of her BL/ind. Work-Day Suit, she returned her attention to the vendor’s stall in front of her. The vendor on the other side of the miniature wooden sales counter was a large, bald man with a ruddy complexion, about her own age. When he extended a burly arm to take her backpack from her and fill it with the goods she’d selected, she noticed a red patch of peeling, radiation-exposed skin on the underside of his forearm. She wondered how much longer he would be there to operate his stall.

“I nearly forgot,” said the vendor, “I have something your daughter might be interested in.” He ducked under the sales counter and re-emerged a moment later, placing a small, vibrant magazine on the surface in front of her. She smiled, immediately knowing what it was- the newest issue of “The Extraordinary Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys,” the comic book series her daughter had been enamoured with since before she could even read. From the cover of the issue, a man with sparkling cartoon eyes smirked confidently at her from over his shoulder as he drove an old-fashioned car through The Desert. He wore an electric blue jacket, and his unruly hair was the improbable red shade of the hourglass shape on the abdomen of a black widow spider. She could almost hear the excited squeal her daughter would make if she were there beside her. “Mom, that one’s called Party Poison,” she would remind her, with her eyes shining, “he’s the leader of all the Killjoys!”

The Killjoys, from what she knew of them, were two-dimensional characters. They were superheroes who lived out in The Desert and drove fast cars. They fought vampire-mask wearing bad guys and shot ray guns, and had campy, often alliterative monikers like ‘Party Poison,’ ‘Jet Star,’ ‘Fun Ghoul,’ ‘Kobra Kid’....and so on. Her daughter could list nearly a dozen Killjoy character names.

“I’ll take that too,” she told the vendor, and passed him the appropriate amount of cash. She shouldered her now-burdensome backpack and turned out to face The Desert, and begin her trek home. There were no roads that lead to or from the outdoor market. Instead, she had to follow the dry stream, through the dead forest. The dangers were to be found in accidentally stumbling into a radiation pocket and getting exposed without even knowing it, or getting caught by Battery City police, who would heavily fine her for leaving without checking-out and for purchasing non-BL/ind. products.

She glanced over her shoulder every few minutes, every muscle tense with awareness. As she turned her head over her shoulder once again, she felt a light tickle inside her nostril and a cool wetness under her nose. She automatically wiped above her upper lip with the back of her hand, which came away rusty with blood. She pressed her sand scarf to her nose to staunch the flow of the nosebleed. She’d been getting a lot of those lately.

* * *

The girl was lying on her bed, reading her new comic book. The character on the cover had bright red hair, and so few things in Battery City were the color red….It reminded her of the stains on the handkerchiefs and rags she’d had to discreetly throw in the trash so her daughter wouldn’t see them. It reminded her of the health and safety messages that were shown on the television (people coughing up crimson flowers of blood in their sink and a voiceover telling citizens to stay inside the city walls, if you’re exposed, there’s nothing we can do for you).

She’d come upstairs to make peace with her daughter, but instead found herself yanking the comic book out of her hands. “Hey!” She protested, and tried to snatch it back, but her mother only folded it and shoved it in her breast pocket. “Be careful with that!” “We need to talk,” she told her daughter, “I’m getting a little worried about your future.” The girl hopped to her feet and folded her arms in a way that made her seem maturely reserved, far beyond her eleven years. “Why?” She asked, “because I like to read?”

“No, I think it’s great that you love to read,” she assured her, “it’s just that...I’m worried it’s going to your head too much. Some escapism is good, but you have to appreciate what you have in front of you.”

She sighed, seeing her daughter’s dissatisfaction with her response. How could she explain to her young daughter that she had to accept her life for what it was? She’d had youthful dreams and aspirations of adventure at that age as well, but that was before the bombs fell. Her daughter was growing up in a different world.

“When you grow up you need to be safe and secure, and you’ll become a Better Living employee just like your mom. If you do well enough, hopefully you’ll be able to have a family of your own. That’s all I want for you,” she told her daughter, feeling it get warm and moist behind her eyes and her nose like the air did before a storm, “and you need to be happy with that as well.”

The girl had been simmering the whole time, her mother could tell, and now she boiled over. “Are you really happy living like this?” She burst out, voice high with youthful rage, “working for Better Living every single day just like everyone else and never leaving and having everything always be exactly the same?!!”

“Yes,” she replied firmly, “because working for Better Living means we get to live in Battery City, which means we get to be safe and secure. We’re lucky, there are so many people out there that can't live comfortably…”

“It’s all about living comfortably, isn’t it?!” Her daughter shouted, catching her by surprise, “you keep saying it, our neighbors keep saying it, Better Living keeps saying it, I don’t understand why it’s so important!” The girl took a shaky breath and continued, “I’d rather live uncomfortably than let Better Living control me. I never want to work for them.”

Her mother slowly exhaled, and felt like things were falling into place. The characters in her daughter’s comic books wore vibrant colors and lived as outlaws outside of the city. The vampire-mask bad guys that they fought wore monochromatic work uniforms not unlike the Work Suits that BL/ind employees wore every day. “Is that really what you think?” She prompted her daughter quietly, “or is that just what those comics have made you think?”

When her daughter just sat down on the edge of her bed with a stubborn scowl fixed on her features and did not respond, she added “Better Living are not the bad guys, they’re the reason we have a roof over our heads.”

They both fell silent, and she watched her daughter, whose eyes were stubbornly fixed on a single point on the floor in front of her. After a few moments, her daughter wiped her eyes, and she saw the tears that were starting to spill from them. A dark tide pulled on her heart, and she took the few steps forward and sat on the bed beside her daughter, wrapping her in her arms. The girl sniffed and finally allowed herself to cry. “I’m sorry you’re sad honey,” she murmured, burying her nose in her daughter’s mane of curls, “but you’ll feel better soon, trust me.”

The girl gripped her mother’s shirt tightly as she worked on steadying her breaths. When she’d calmed down slightly, and her sniffs were fewer and farther between, she murmured into her mother’s shoulder and her voice was surprisingly steady. “I’m not going to be stuck here my whole life,” she said, and her mother didn’t respond because it sounded like a promise. As if the girl understood something greater, that her mother couldn’t understand.

* * *

Approaching Battery City was like approaching the end of the world all over again. In order to reach it, they had to pass through miles of suburban graveyards. It must have been spring (or the ghost of it at least) because there were a few twisted cherry blossom trees that grew between cracked slabs of sidewalk. They had only a few weak, scraggly bunches of blossoms here and there. Drops of acidic rain and saturated gusts of air occasionally knocked white petals off the branches and sent them spiralling toward the ground like ash.

They parked the car a mile from the Northern wall of Battery City (where there was no official entrance and therefore no checkpoint), behind the ruins of a two-story family dwelling with peeling paint that used to be blue. There was no instantaneous spring to action when Party pulled the parking brake, turned the key, and the ignition was cut. The Killjoys listened apprehensively to the silence. This was the moment when, years ago, at the beginning of their time together, he might have said “if there’s anyone who wants to sit this one out…” but no longer. There was no more second-guessing, they had been in this together for a long time now.

It was all familiar, the way Ghoul, in the shotgun seat, nudged his elbow in a gesture of reassurance, getting him to glance upwards to meet his gaze in the rear view mirror. His lively brown eyes (the color of polished leather) were soft in the way they get when he’s sending the message ‘everything will be fine,’ and it was familiar, the way he nodded back in agreement with Ghoul’s message and then turned his head to look over his shoulder at the others in the backseat. Ghoul did the same, and all four of the people in the car exchanged meaningful glances for a moment. They all sent unspoken assurance to the Kid, the youngest of the group.

“Are we sure about this?” asked Jet from his seat behind Ghoul, not a hint of anxiety revealed in his voice.

“Dr. D said she’d be here,” Party responded, and that was that. Jet nodded his acceptance and slapped the Kid’s knee beside him, noticing the tension in the younger man’s jaw. There was a flurry of seat belt unbuckling and car door opening that followed.

Once outside the car, Party pulled the hood of his black acid rain-proof jacket over his head. He tucked strands of his bright red hair behind his ears, careful to make sure it was all well-hidden. They all wore the same black, concealing clothes. Red and blue jackets, yellow shirts, jewelry, masks, and other beloved but identifiable items were all safely hidden away in the trunk of the car. He pulled his sand scarf over his nose and donned protective goggles, watching the others do the same.

Jet ran a hand fondly over the painted black spider on the hood of their car, “we’ll be back for her soon,” he said. Party agreed silently, and hoped it would be before she would need to be dug out of the sand that would inevitably blow in from The Desert and bury her.

They all turned and began to walk away. After a few minutes of silent footsteps, Party stepped on something that made an unnerving, hollow sound. Kicking away sand and grit with the toe of his boot, he saw that it was a charred For Rent sign. Shivering slightly, he looked up at the wall of Battery City ahead. It was a tall, bronzish metal thing that loomed above them. Highway signs and lights peered over the top. As they approached it, the sound of the highway on the other side of the wall increased in volume until it was like a giant snoring monster under a waterfall. When it was right there in front of them, they stopped. Jet shouldered the duffel bag he was carrying to the ground, unzipped it, and began to pull out the grappling hook. The rest of them took the moment to stare up at the wall.

They knew it was the moment they’d been working toward for years, fending off Battery City exterminators (who secretly hunted down and murdered rebels and outlaws), researching, tracking, and deciphering Dr. D’s information- all for their goal of finding The Girl.

From beside Party, Ghoul slid his gloved hand inside his and squeezed it once. Fast as a heartbeat, almost hard enough to hurt, then they both let go.

He’d been thinking about it for a while. When they found The Girl and told her about her destiny, what he would tell her when she inevitably told him that she was afraid. He couldn’t quite picture her face yet, or even exactly how old she would be, but he could imagine her young eyes shining with fear, the weight of the world on her tiny shoulders. He’d been thinking that despite the cryptic warnings and prophecies of Dr. D telling them that The Girl was their only hope of building something more than what Battery City offered humanity, the sacrifices and loyalty and love given freely to him by his family (the Killjoys), a godlike android in the desert waiting to be awakened by a chosen one...he’d been thinking that he would tell her she didn’t have to be afraid. She didn’t have to fulfill her destiny.

“Do what you want,” he would tell her, “the most important thing is that you’re free.”


	2. Between the Action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think really anyone's actually reading this but....a girl's gotta practice her writing skills somehow!

They had left the Trans-Am with Jet, about a mile away from the shadow market, where the throngs were dispersed and only the occasional traveller meandered by. As they approached their car, Party eyed the unexpected second figure leaning against the vehicle beside Jet. His apprehensive frown soon reversed into a grin when he recognized the figure’s lithe, slender frame and motorcycle helmet. He glanced over his shoulder at his companions, reassuring the girl (who was gazing at the stranger with an anxious frown). Ghoul was grinning as well, and said “looks like Pony found us already.” The girl gasped loudly, and all three of the Killjoys looked at her. “Show Pony?” She asked, with awed wonder in her voice. Party nodded in confirmation, then turned forward again, raising an arm up high and waving it in greeting. The slenderer figure waved back.

  
When they reached the Trans- Am however, and Party took in Jet’s face, his grin rapidly melted. Beside Show Pony, Jet’s eye was rimmed in pinkish-red swollen skin, the beginnings of a nasty bruise. There was blood under his nose, and he was standing hunched over a little with his hand under his jacket pressed gingerly to his ribs. Party tensed, his right hand automatically moving across his body toward the hilt of his laser gun. “What happened?” He demanded.

  
“I got jumped,” Jet responded, a slightly pained wheeze in his voice, “not exterminators, just a couple guys seeing if they could collect a ransom. Got me when my back was turned.” He shifted his weight awkwardly, looking embarrassed, then jerked his head toward his new companion, “Pony showed up in time to save my ass.”

  
Show Pony was lounging against the side of the Trans-Am with a bare arm thrown across the roof of the vehicle, the toes of their roller skates in the sand. Pony was wearing their signature polka-dotted spandex tights and crop top, and the visor of their motorcycle helmet was lifted to reveal playful blue eyes. The young, athletic assistant of Dr. D, Show Pony was always on the move, and their roller skates helped them move faster wherever they went. Pony nodded in acknowledgement towards Party.

  
Party relaxed a little, then, casting a concerned glance toward the girl, he asked in a low voice “you didn’t uh...ghost ‘em did you?” His eyes darted around a few times nervously, making sure there weren’t any dead bodies nearby. Pony shook their head, “nah, a few warning shots sent them running, soon as they saw he had backup.”  
Party let out a relieved breath.

Meanwhile, Kobra had crept up on Jet and was trying to lift his shirt to inspect the damage. “Get off me,” Jet muttered, shoving his hands away. “Mom, I’m fine,” he complained, “Pony already checked me out, it’s just bruising.”

  
The girl appeared at Party’s side, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. Pony’s attention was instantly captured. “So this is the legendary girl,” they noted from behind their helmet, looking the girl up and down. “You’re a little too adorable for a Killjoy, aren’t you?” Pony’s tone was friendly and teasing, but all of the awe of meeting another comic book character in real life faded from the girl’s face. She crossed her arms confrontationally and raised a cynical brow. “At least I’m not wearing polka-dot tights,” she retorted, “very intimidating.” Pony’s eyes sparkled with delight, “hey now,” they warned, shaking a finger at the girl. Party cracked a mildly mystified smile at the interaction.

  
“Alright, alright,” Jet burst out, interrupting whatever comeback Pony had opened their mouth to say. “Can you all please get me to Dr. D’s? I’m in pain, remember?”

  
“Okay,” Party said, and made a shooing motion toward the car, “everyone get in. Pony, you riding with us?”

  
“Yep,” Pony announced cheerfully, eliciting identical groans of “oh noo...” from Kobra and Ghoul. “Oh you’ll live,” Pony told them, squeezing into the middle of the backseat next to Ghoul.

  
Party glanced worriedly at Jet, who grunted in pain while struggling to buckle his seat belt. “They kicked me in the stomach,” he groaned, and Party winced sympathetically, then turned to look over his shoulder at the chaos in the backseat. The girl was sitting on Kobra’s lap, who was already gazing out the window, clearly trying to pretend he was somewhere else, while the girl bickered cheerfully with Pony (whose spandexed thighs were squeezed between Ghoul and Kobra’s). Ghoul was turned toward the side door, hunched over the lighter he had clutched in his hands with a cigarette between his lips.   
“Oh hell no!” Party protested, flailing an arm behind himself to try and smack the lighter out of his hand, “no smoking in this car!” He caught him on the shoulder, and Ghoul protested “I was gonna open a window,” but obediently stuffed his lighter and cigarette away in the breast pocket of his jacket.

  
Party faced forward again and sighed, turning the key in the ignition, allowing the growling sounds of the engine to add to the chaos. He bumped his forehead once against the steering wheel in exasperation, but when he lifted his head again there was a smile on his face. He put his foot on the gas pedal.

* * *

“Do you think sunsets were this epic before the world ended?” Ghoul wondered aloud. They were sitting on the sandy ground against the outside wall of the side of Dr. D’s diner, pressed shoulder to shoulder, drinking from cans of nutrient water. They were lounging in comfortable silence with their legs sprawled out in front of them, watching the western sky relentlessly catch fire in slow motion, combusting into brighter and more vivid shades of orange and red. The horizon above the distant purple hills was a river of molten gold, and the fading light seemed to cling to surfaces of rocks and shrubs lending them magenta haloes.

Party hummed thoughtfully. “Nah,” he decided, “it’s all the pollutants and shit in the air.” So there was that, at least.

  
“Kinda makes you just want to try to drive off into it,” Party mused after a moment, then fell back into his tired, contemplative silence, sipping from his can of nutrient water.

  
“Let’s do it,” Ghoul said suddenly, causing Party to startle slightly and wonder what he was talking about for a few seconds until he understood that Ghoul was responding to his offhand comment. He gave a confused chuckle, and had to glance back at Ghoul’s face more than one time before he realized that he was serious, and if Party said ‘yes’ he was prepared to spring to his feet. Ghoul shifted his position so that he was turned in toward Party’s side and looking directly at his face instead of out at the horizon. “Let’s drive off toward the hills right now, following the sunset,” he said seriously, “why not?”   
Party awkwardly forced a smirk in response, “and get stuck out there in the middle of the night?” He countered, “we’d have a hell of a time finding our way back in the dark.” Ghoul’s eyes flickered down toward the tiny sliver of ground between the two of them, then back up to meet Party’s gaze unabashedly. “Actually I was thinking we could um…” The way his gaze lingered searchingly on Party’s face and his voice faltered made Party understand what he was thinking before he finished his sentence. “...spend the night out there. Alone.”

Oh. They were having this conversation again.   
Party had a brief disorientating moment where all he could see was crimson red. He realized it was because he’d ducked his head and locks of his vibrant hair had fallen over his eyes, the setting sunlight shining through it, illuminating it like Day-Glo paint. Slowly, he raised a hand from where it had been resting on the ground and wiped the grains of sand from his palm against his jeans, before lifting it and running his fingers through his hair. He strategically tucked his unruly bangs behind his ears, out of his face. Ghoul’s soft brown eyes were watching him, full of sincerity that made him wince inwardly.

  
“It would make it even more romantic if you wore the sexy black dress that me and Motorbaby secretly picked out for you at the shadow market,” Ghoul added out of nowhere, the intensity and hint of breathlessness had vanished from his voice, replaced by a teasing overtone. Party groaned and rolled his eyes, seizing on the emotional escape. He really hoped Ghoul was kidding about the dress, but it was hard to tell sometimes.

  
“Would you quit calling her that?” He complained, deftly changing the subject. He was relieved when Ghoul grinned and responded “What, Motorbaby? The girl picked that killjoy name, she likes it.” Party narrowed his eyes and grimaced distastefully, “it’s weird,” he argued, “she’s a twelve year old girl.” Ghoul bumped his shoulder against Party’s and responded without missing a beat “it’s only weird if you make it weird you filthy-minded creep.” Party glared at him and made an attempt to kick his leg, but it didn’t really work because they were still sitting side by side. “Idiot,” he muttered. They both fell back into a warm and comfortable silence, any tension between them had been weak in the first place and was now drained of energy. Party began to feel that he had successfully avoided the topic of conversation, until Ghoul said quietly “in all seriousness though...you’re avoiding the question.” He wasn’t looking at Party this time, returning his gaze outward, but without the same hopefulness in it.

Party sighed, “we’ve had this conversation before,” he said, hoping the regret was evident in his voice as the corners of his mouth twisted upwards in a tiny sad smile. He took in another breath and then desperately searched for a way to escape the subject before Ghoul could say anything.

  
“I, um…” he said, his voice raised in volume, “I have to go make sure the girl’s comfortable here for tonight,” he finished, pushing himself off the ground and sliding his legs under him into a crouch. He glanced at Ghoul again, who was shaking his head with something like amusement or exasperation in his expression. Then he looked at Party and pointed a finger at him. “One of these days,” he told him, “you’re gonna say yes to me.”

  
Party just let one side of his mouth quirk up in a half-smile, lingering there for a moment before standing up and turning away. He brushed the sand off of the back of his jeans with his hands as he wandered towards the front door of the diner. He glanced once over his shoulder to see Ghoul sitting alone now, gazing out at the darkening horizon.

He knew that Ghoul had probably been right. Eventually, one of these days, he would give in and say yes. Assuming they lived long enough...and out in The Desert, that was a pretty damn big assumption.


	3. Life in The Desert

It happened when they were about 20 miles out from the diner.

  
The sun was a white orb in the upper right corner of the grimy windshield, positioned perfectly to force Party to squint painfully at the road ahead with his cheek muscles tensed in order to see where he was driving. The windows were all rolled up because of the amount of dust on the wind, and Kobra, Jet, and the girl were sweating together in the backseat. No one spoke, and the radio was dialed down to a low volume, everyone focused entirely on keeping from overheating. At some point Jet had half-heartedly suggested that Party drive in a zig-zag trajectory across The Desert in order to avoid being perpetually in the direct path of the sun, but this plan was quickly vetoed as the rest of them felt carsick at the mere thought of it.

Party had his gaze fixed blankly on the hazy line where the brown horizon melted into shining heat waves and dust, his foot frozen on the gas pedal, when he heard a distressed whimpering sound from the seat next to him.   
He glanced over to Ghoul, who had been dozing for hours with the crown of his head resting against the window. He still seemed to be asleep but his eyebrows were furrowed and his jaw was clenched instead of hanging slightly agape like it was previously. His hand twitched in his lap a few times and he seemed to curl in on himself as much as he was physically able.

  
Assuming it was a bad dream, Party was about to reach out a hand to nudge him awake, when Ghoul’s eyes suddenly flew open and he jerked away from the window. He instantly began scrabbling blindly at the handle of the car door as if it weren’t locked and they weren’t careening across The Desert at over 80 miles per hour. He then whipped his head around to look at Party with panic in his eyes, all the blood drained from his face.

Party slammed the brakes as quickly as he could without causing any serious damage, grinding the watercolor passing scenery to a sickening halt and causing Kobra and Jet’s foreheads to hit the backs of the seats in front of them. The Trans-Am skidded to a stop, and ignoring the indignant noises from the backseat, Party unlocked the car doors. Less than a second later, Ghoul threw himself out the door and made it a few steps before doubling over, wretching, and began vomiting all over the side of the road.

  
“Looks like Ghoul got a little roadsick,” Jet commented, his tone light and amused for the girl’s benefit. Party, on the other hand, felt dread begin to collect in his stomach, and opened his own door to get out of the car. He circled around the hood and made his way over to Ghoul, who had collapsed on his hands and knees, still heaving. Party dropped to his knees on the hot, cracked pavement beside him and began to comb his friend’s long hair out of his face with his fingers. He held Ghoul’s black hair, warm with trapped heat from the sun, in his right hand and leaned his weight on his left while his friend pulled himself together.

When he had finished dry-heaving, he spat a few times, breathing shakily in between. Party inched forward in order to be better balanced on his knees and reached up to feel Ghoul’s forehead with his left hand. It felt hot, and even sweatier than it should be. Party frowned, and ran his left hand up from his friend’s forehead through his hair, in order to pull back any stray locks of hair that had escaped to hang over his eyes.

  
“You okay?” Party asked somewhat pointlessly. It was slang for ‘what do you need from me?’ 

  
Ghoul wiped his mouth on the back of a slightly trembling hand. “I’m fine,” he answered, his voice raspy.

  
Party heard footsteps behind them, and then Kobra was leaning over them and placing a sympathetic hand on Ghoul’s shoulder. With his other hand, he offered Ghoul a silver water canteen. He took it reluctantly and used a sparing mouthful of water to rinse the taste of vomit out of his mouth and spat it on the ground. Then he swallowed a few more small sips under Party’s approving gaze. He handed the canteen back to Kobra and sat back on his heels, nausea apparently abated.

  
“Dr. D will have nausea pills,” Party said, “you good to keep moving?” He hated to rush his sick friend back into the hot hellhole that was the inside of their car, but it was doing them no good to stay out in the sun with none of their supplies left.

  
Ghoul nodded, and Kobra and Party each grabbed an arm to steady him as he pushed himself to his feet. He shrugged them off and walked back to the car without any support, though his knees trembled slightly and he was still pale like paper.

  
“You alright man?” Jet called out as Ghoul slumped back in the passenger seat. Beside him the girl’s eyes were wide and concerned. Party and Kobra returned to their seats as well, buckling their seat belts and casting anxious glances toward Ghoul, worried he might get sick again.

  
Ghoul waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder, “yeah, sorry about that guys,” he said, and attempted a chuckle, “just got a little roadsick back there.”

  
No one commented on it further, as Party started the engine and soon had the car back up to 80 miles an hour, rocketing across the miles of sand and leaving dust clouds in their wake like a comet tail. A weight had settled in his chest, and every so often his hands itched to reach out and feel Ghoul’s forehead again….but he kept them firmly bound to the steering wheel.

  
By the time they reached the diner, and Show Pony had brought Ghoul nausea pills and water and then brought Party a rag and sudsy bucket to wash the grime from the Trans-Am, the heaviness in Party’s chest had alleviated.

He poured water over the windshield, watching it carve miniature waterfalls through the layers of dust, and began wiping it down (the rag soon coming away brown with grime) as he watched the girl play a weird version of tag with Show Pony. The other Killjoys were sitting on the ground in the cool shadow of the diner, while the girl made renewed attempts to tackle Pony, only to have them pirouette out of the way on their roller skates, giggling. Ghoul (some of the color having returned to his face) was laughing along with the others.

  
As the sun turned orange, it’s fire fading for the evening, they retired indoors and ate their dinner out of cans all squeezed together into one diner booth. Ghoul, Jet, and Kobra were squeezed on one side and Party, Show Pony, and the girl on the other. They all wolfed the sustenance down gratefully, shovelling it into their mouths with tin spoons, with the exception of Ghoul who choked down a few bites when Party stared at him intimidatingly before passing the rest to Kobra.

  
Another thing the Killjoys knew how to appreciate outside of food and water, was a good night’s sleep. Therefore, they were all ready to pass out only a short time after dinner and spread their bedrolls on the floor in random corners of the diner while the girl took over the one spare bedroom (a mattress in what used to be the pantry). They fell asleep to the mysterious, muffled electronic crackling from Dr. D’s radio room.

* * *

When Party was shaken awake by a hand on his shoulder, it was still dark and the radio sounds had gone silent. He blinked a few times, forcing himself awake and into a state of relative alertness, and struggled to see his surroundings when the only light was blue from the humming refrigerator. Kobra was crouching over him, his blonde hair white in the darkness and his features were sculpted marble.

“Ghoul is sick again,” he murmured, and jabbed a thumb toward the front door, “he’s outside ‘cause he didn’t want to wake the kid.”

Party felt the weight in his chest return, and this time it was several tons out of his weight class. He quickly unzipped his bedroll and scrambled out of it. He grabbed his blue jacket from the floor next to him and pulled it on over his sleeveless undershirt, then pulled on his boots. In seconds, he was on his feet and following Kobra out the door, which he shut quietly behind them.

  
He shivered in the bracing night air, and saw two slumped silhouettes sitting on the ground just beyond where they’d parked the Trans-Am, one taller with a halo of curly hair (who he recognized as Jet), and one shorter with long hair hanging down over his shoulders. As Party approached them, he saw that Jet was rubbing Ghoul’s back soothingly from beside him, while Ghoul sat huddled up with his knees drawn to his chest.

Party dropped down to sit on Ghoul’s other side, stretching out a leg and taking note to avoid the dark puddle of sick about a meter away. Kobra stood in ominous silence behind them while Party reached up to feel Ghoul’s forehead. He shuddered slightly under his touch, his eyes closed, and his forehead was even warmer than it was before, definitely feverish. Party swore helplessly under his breath and felt the others look at him with closeted fear.

“This isn’t motion sickness,” Party said softly, “and I don’t think it’s sun sickness either,” his voice got kind of raspy so he stopped talking. Ghoul just shook his head slowly and said “nope” in a blank voice.

  
Of course, they’d all known this was a looming possibility since over a week ago when they’d been ambushed by exterminators in the sand dunes of Zone 5. They’d been caught in a compromising situation, separated from their car and missing Ghoul and the girl from their group (who had gone on a supply run). Returning to the echoes of laser guns being fired, Ghoul had left the girl in the car and made the reckless decision to run through the outskirts of a radiation zone in order to be able to shoot at the exterminators without being spotted. It ended the confrontation quickly and efficiently, saving all of their asses, and Ghoul had made it through the first few days without any symptoms so they’d thought they were in the clear…

  
“You fucking idiot,” Party said, pulling his hand away from Ghoul’s forehead, but there was really no bite in his voice. He caught a flash of white teeth as Ghoul smiled weakly in the darkness.

“Yep,” he agreed simply.

  
After a few moments of having a heavy, miserable silence draped over them like a soggy towel, Jet asked “Did you get any sleep?” Ghoul took a moment to respond, then shook his head slowly again, “I don’t wanna go back inside,” he said. “It’s too hot in there.”

  
Party wordlessly reached down and began to zip up his own jacket, all the way up to his chin because it was colder than a corpse in The Desert at night. Then he inched himself closer until he could feel Ghoul trembling and warm against his side, Jet had dropped his hand from Ghoul’s back so Party took over the soothing back-rubbing.

Jet inched closer as well on Ghoul’s other side, while Kobra dropped down on the ground beside Party, crossing his legs and making himself comfortable. They had at least an hour left before daylight would begin to flood The Desert, but Ghoul knew better than to tell them to go back to sleep without him. The Killjoys were stubborn, and none of them were going to leave.

* * *

“I know what you’re thinking,” Kobra said.

  
Sunlight had painted the diner in optimistic shades of yellow. The music from Dr. D’s radio channel was muffled behind his door but a familiar bass guitar rhythm could be made out. Jet was outside with the girl and Ghoul was finally asleep, having been persuaded into taking over the spare room. He was huddled up there in a shivery, feverish state of unconsciousness. Meanwhile, Kobra was sitting in the diner booth watching Party clean the grime from his gear, which was spread out on the table, with a damp rag. He never looked up from his task, even though he could feel Kobra watching him.

  
About 15 minutes ago, they’d had to explain the situation to Dr. D and Show Pony, painfully aware of the girl listening in by Kobra’s elbow. Dr. D had sent Pony out for better medicine to treat a fever, then returned to his radio room, impassive as always.

The girl had been the first to break the solemn silence when she pulled on Jet’s sleeve and asked in a frightened whisper “is Ghoul gonna be like my mom?” Party’s throat had gone too tight to respond, his fingers clenching around his belt compulsively. Jet had handled it well though, putting an arm around her shoulders and saying “no...well, we don’t know sweetie,” in a gentle voice. “Let’s go outside okay?” Then he had steered her out the door, leaving Kobra and Party to stare gloomily at the table.

  
“What do you mean?” Party asked sharply, in response to Kobra’s cryptic comment, while pulling his yellow laser gun from his holster and deciding to clean that next (though it didn’t really need it).

  
“You know….the last resort, to save Ghoul, if he doesn’t recover.”

  
Party’s jaw tightened. If Kobra was going to accuse him of betraying everything that his team believed in and fought for, he at least wanted him to say it out loud.

  
“Say it,” he prompted, and Kobra sighed.

  
“Better Living can heal radiation sickness.”

  
This was true, Party knew. They didn’t tell this to the citizens of Battery City, preferring them to believe leaving the city meant facing certain death (and not wanting to waste resources). This was the lie that the girl’s mother unknowingly died to protect. However, if they had the chance to recondition a notorious Killjoy, weakening their ranks, and potentially turning him into a Better Living exterminator…..

  
“If we got someone to turn him in…” Kobra trailed off.

  
…..Better Living would pounce on the opportunity. He’d be no good to them dead. Of course Party had been thinking of it. He scrubbed the charred inside of the barrel of his laser gun and said nothing.

  
“You know you can’t do that to him,” Kobra pressed, “he’d-”  
“I know,” Party cut him off, shoving his gun back inside his holster. “He’d rather die.”

  
He picked up his newly shining belt from the table, pulled it through the loops of his worn, gray jeans, and buckled it. Then he turned away without a word, heading towards the room where Ghoul was sleeping.

He pressed his fingertips to his temples as he walked, digging his fingernails lightly into his skin. He suddenly felt more tired than he had ever been before.


End file.
